Maybe
by PepsiRevolution
Summary: Maybe Carlos Garcia isnt as happy-go-lucky as you thought  One-shot!


**Maybe**

Maybe someday it'll get easier, to wake up every day and do the usual. It was all fake smiles, fake laughs, and fake happiness. Everything was false, a lie. It was entirely your fault. If you had let them see the real you, the person underneath. Maybe you wouldn't need to smile all the time and be a ball of energy. Maybe, if you told them the truth that you hated almost everything and anything. You could've prevented this; you could've showed them everything you are. You should've been able to, you needed too. But it was all too late now. They've become accustomed to the counterfeit smiles because they believed that every time you set that forged grin on your face it was real. That every time you would bust a gut it was real. If they would've known all along that you were a fraud, you'd still be in Minnesota mowing lawns. They would've never been your friend or even tried to get to know you. Maybe if you would have let them in, they could help you, and give you comfort. But no, you had to be stubborn and listen to the little evil devil on your shoulder and let him guide you.

Maybe if you had even let Mama Knight know, she could've taken you to therapy. You could've fixed everything and become that happy guy that Kendall, James, and Logan think you are. But you knew it wouldn't mean anything. You don't like pity and you don't like it when people want to make you better. AS IF SOMETHING WAS WRONG WITH YOU! All you want is to lock yourself up in the bathroom with a corndog and hide from your demons. Maybe if you'd told the doctor or the cops the real reason you swerved off the road. You could've told on your uncle, that he was distracting you by pushing you and turning the radio all the way up. You know you should've said something anything. But if it hadn't been for your uncle in the hospital bed next to you, threatening your life if you'd tell. You could've stopped the cops at the door and spilled your guts about everything. Your uncle had a broken leg he wasn't going to do anything to you. You should've had him taken away but you sat there and smiled a small smile and pleaded the cops with your eyes that they knew that it was his entire fault.

Maybe if you had sat down once at the kitchen table with your older sister and listened to her problems or let her just cry on your shoulder. Then she wouldn't have run away and into the street, right in front of the car of a drunk driver. You could've done anything to make her at least laugh one more time maybe you wouldn't have to visit her grave every January twenty-fourth. Maybe if you'd told your mom that dad was cheating instead of having her catch it herself the next day. She probably wouldn't have got on the plane to Memphis and left. She could've taken you with her too. But when she left a note on the kitchen island the next morning you knew she was out of your life.

Maybe if you wouldn't let your dad open that first bottle of Jack Daniels then another, and another, and another he wouldn't have done it. He shouldn't have smashed that bottle against your head. Now you wear a helmet all the time and no one except your jail ridden dad and you know why. If you could've convinced him not to go out that night he wouldn't have set that bar on fire, got arrested and got you sent to live with your Aunt Patty in her apartment two blocks away. In that apartment it always smelled of cigars and pizza. Patty didn't know how to cook and Uncle Edwin was on a cigar kick. Then you met Jackson a guy down in a different apartment and he and his buddies played music all night long and you became restless.

Maybe if you told the boys and Gustavo that you wanted to be a firefighter and save lives like you could've done with your family. All you had to do was say this is James's dream not mine. You could be in a burning building saving a little child that went back in harm's way for her stuffed animal. You'd be a hero.

Maybe all you had to do was start speaking up and telling them how you felt. But now all you got was Gustavo's dumb comments on your singing and dancing. You weren't born for this; you didn't want to be on stage. You hated the loud screaming that burst your eardrums and the obsessed fans trying to jump your bones. Every show you ran to your dressing room and breathed in all the fame. You didn't like it. You barely liked anything. Everything you had loved or liked had been taken away from you, your mom, your sister, your happiness, your dream, and even your dumb dad who went to jail. And all you had to do was say something, anything to anyone. They could've helped you out.

Maybe just maybe Carlos Garcia isn't as happy-go-lucky as you'd think.


End file.
